


Back Against the Wall

by MyTARDISsenseIsTingling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Elevator Sex, F/M, Love in an Elevator, Shameless Smut, Short, Smut, ironic ending, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyTARDISsenseIsTingling/pseuds/MyTARDISsenseIsTingling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unofficial sequel to "Say Something." Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper have been seeing each other for over a month but have yet to tell anyone about it. Sherlock is happy with this arrangement, but Molly has other wishes. After having a row about it, they find themselves trapped in an elevator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Against the Wall

Sherlock’s breath was close on Molly’s neck as he leaned over, watching her careful hands on the scalpel, cutting into the corpse with utmost precision. She shivered and giggled. 

“Focus now, Molly, we can’t have you getting distracted at work.”

“I can’t help it! You’re doing that on purpose, you know you’re distracting.”

“Am I?”

He took her chin gently in his hand, turning it to the side so their lips could meet.

“Yes,” whispered Molly breathlessly when they’d broken apart. Then she smiled again. “But seriously though we should probably stop making out over the corpse.”

“Oh he doesn’t mind,” Sherlock’s tone was flippant, but as his eyes flitted back down to the body on the gurney, watching Molly continue the autopsy, he was distracted by something in the bones. He knelt down to have a closer look at the shattered ribs that had been the cause of death.

“Look at the shatter pattern on the bones. Such a wound can only have been made by a cricket bat. That means it had to have been the brother, there’s no other option.”

“Fantastic! Well not fantastic, I mean… But it’s solved then?”

“Yes. Just let me call Lestrade. And possibly John. I’ve sent him on an errand that he won’t need to complete now.”

Molly returned to the autopsy while Sherlock began pressing buttons on his cell phone. As she completed the other required aspects of the procedure, she was careful to leave the shattered bones exactly in place so that Lestrade could take accurate pictures for evidence. But as she went about her work, her mind began to wander. 

Should she say it today? Was today the right day to bring it up with him? Would there ever be a ‘right’ day, really? Would he be mad? It was probably a terrible idea. But if she never brought it up, it would probably never get a mention. She had to assert herself, right? Make her own needs and wants known too? It took two people to make a relationship work, not one person calling all the shots. Yes, she should really say something before she lost her nerve.

Sherlock stopped talking, drawing Molly’s attention back from her musings, and she watched him hang up the phone.

“Lestrade is on his way, John might be too. I told him not to come but he says he wants to make sure Lestrade gets all the information. I don’t know, something about finding more evidence… it doesn’t matter…” 

He turned his full attention back to Molly, the mischievous smile back on his face. “I can think of a few things we could do while we wait for them…”  
He leaned in to kiss her again, but Molly stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“Wait, Sherlock, I… I need to talk to you about something?”

Sherlock blinked, looking slightly bemused, but stepped back slightly.

“Of course, Molly. What is it?”

“I just… we’ve been seeing each other for almost a month now… And I thought it might be time… Can we just start telling people about it now? Please? I’m tired of keeping the secret.”

Molly held her breath after she’d finally let the words come tumbling out, waiting for Sherlock to say something. But he was silent. As the seconds stretched out, the hesitant smile slowly faded from Molly’s face. He’d been silent for too long.

“Sherlock?”

He said nothing.

“Look… I know you might not be that happy about the idea but I really don’t see the point in—”

“What’s wrong with the way things are?” Sherlock asked finally, cutting her off, his face completely deadpan. He was taking special care to make sure his face was absolutely unreadable, and Molly knew it.

“I don’t know, it’s just… hard to keep it secret. Everyone’s been talking, I know it. It does look a little strange, after all. I broke off the engagement with Tom and yet I wasn’t upset about it at all.”

“You’re a strong person, I’m sure they don’t question it that much.”

Molly blinked at the unintentional compliment, taking a moment to regain her thoughts.

“I- well- yes, I suppose, but-”

“So I’m still failing to see what the problem is.”

“The problem is I’m sick of it, Sherlock! Maybe I want to be able to be honest with my family and friends about my relationships. Maybe I don’t want other people thinking I’m still on the market. Maybe I don’t want other people thinking you’re on the market. Maybe I want to be able to actually go places with you other than work or our apartments. Maybe I kind of want to show you off a little. Maybe I’m tired of hiding!”

Every word tumbled out of her one after another, a torrent that she couldn’t stop. Sherlock’s brow furrowed more deeply with every confession.

“I didn’t know you felt that way. I thought what we have had been working for both of us. I just fail to see what would be much different if we started telling people about us, other than that we’d have an influx of unnecessary opinions and outside input.”

“Sometimes it can be nice sharing things with other people.”

“Not when their interference could ruin things.”

“How exactly would it ruin things, Sherlock? How exactly?”

“There are dozens of scenarios in which—”

“OHH I forgot! The brilliant Sherlock Holmes has already deduced our entire relationship before it’s even happened! Because he knows everything, of course…”

“Molly, you know I’m not… good with these things. I’m trying to have an intimate relationship with you, but I’ve never really done anything quite like this before and I think adding other people into the mix would only complicate matters.”

“This is the way people work in this world, Sherlock. They interact. You know that, you know we can’t keep it this way forever.”

Sherlock shook his dark curls, his expression pained. “I just… I can’t have them… Knowing… I can’t…”

“You honestly don’t think we could handle them? Together? You don’t think what we’ve got going now is strong enough to withstand the possible… ‘outside input?’” Molly put derisive air quotes around the last two words, frustrated with Sherlock’s stubborn inability to see things rationally. For a man who claimed to operate solely within the realms of logic and reason, he had so many irrational fears when it came to dealing with other people. 

Sherlock was silent, his gaze intense with silent scrutiny as Molly’s last question hung in the air.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

The words sounded so absurd coming from his mouth, and not just because of the way they made Molly’s head feel as though she’d just eaten ice cream too quickly. Those were three words that the detective barely ever uttered.

But he said them now.

“I… I just don’t know.”

Molly was silent, staring at him in disbelief. Her head was spinning. She turned away, heading for the door.

“I… I think I need to go sit down.” She was ashamed to hear her voice shaking. She picked up speed as she stepped out into the hall and headed for the lift.

“Molly wait—”

“No, Sherlock!” she called out behind her, determinedly trying to regain composure and stop the shaking in her voice. But her bottom lip was beginning to quiver uncontrollably.

“Molly please—”

“Go away!”

To her luck, the lift was empty and waiting when she got there. She tried to step in quickly and get the doors closed before Sherlock could follow her too far, pummeling the button madly, her vision starting to blur. But as the door finally began to slide shut, a shiny black shoe forced its way between the door and the wall, followed by the rest of Sherlock’s long skinny form. The door obliged, opening back up to let him in.

“I didn't want you to follow me.”

“And ordinarily I respect your wishes but in this particular case they seemed irrational to the situation and I thought it best to ignore them.”  
Molly said nothing. She turned away from him, trying to hide the watering of her eyes. 

The lift door closed with deadening finality.

“Molly… I don’t want to be upset with me, I want to… you know… make it better. I’m just not sure what else to say.”

In the past month Molly had gotten a little more used to dating the detective, but she never got over how odd it was to hear things like this come out of his mouth. He always said them with an expression of confusion, as though he still had to make a conscious effort to wrap his mind around these concepts that were naturally so foreign to him.

“Sometimes what would make it better would be to just give the other person some space, Sherlock.”

“That’s just it. That’s one of those things, I never know quite when to—”

But his words were cut off by a sickening grinding sound. There was a quick jolt and the car came to an abrupt halt. Then there was a moment of sickening silence as Molly and Sherlock registered the situation.

“The telephone get the—”

But Sherlock was already reaching for the red emergency phone built into the wall. Dimly, in her state of numb shock, Molly remembered how she’d always wondered what it would be like to have to use one of those. Now she was more concerned with praying that she and Sherlock weren’t about to go plunging to their gruesome deaths.

“Hello, it appears this lift has run into a malfunction, is everything all right?” Sherlock was asking into the receiver. “Mmmhmm… mmmhmmmm… Yes… All right… Thank you. Yes we’ll be here.”

He hung up, but didn’t say a word. Molly stared at him incredulously.

“Well?!”

“Well what?”

“Christ, Sherlock seriously? What did they say?” 

“Oh. There’s nothing to worry about. They don’t think we’re in any immediate danger. They’re just going to send someone to look into it. Say they’ll have it up and running again in about an hour or two. At least the power’s not out.”

“An hour or two?!”

“That’s what they said.”

“Perfect. Just perfect. But we’re not going to go plunging to our deaths?”

“Not as far as they can tell right now.”

“Peachy.”

Molly slouched back against the wall, rubbing her temples. Sherlock regarded her with hawk like concern. “Is this about you being angry with me?”

“Well to my knowledge no one ever really wants to get stuck in a lift. Really puts a damper in daily plans. But yes it doesn’t help that you’re here.”  
Molly hung her head, refusing to look at him. The fright of the unexpected lift malfunction had dried her eyes, but she could feel them beginning to fill dangerously again as the stress washed back over her anew. 

“Why was it bad for me to say ‘I don’t know?’” Sherlock asked finally with a sigh, leaning back next to her. Molly looked up incredulously, meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d tried to run away from him.

“Sherlock… If you don’t believe that our relationship is strong enough to withstand telling people about it, then why are we in it at all?”

“But isn’t that the point? If other people will ruin it then why should we have to tell people about it?”

“Because it’s not real Sherlock!” Molly’s voice broke. “Relationships can only be real once they’ve been in the real world. We can’t live in our own private little dream world forever. That’s just… it’s not how it goes.”

“I don’t see why it has to be that way.”

“Well honestly, I don’t either, I just know that’s the way it is.”

Molly sighed and tilted her head back against the cold metallic wall, sighing deeply and closing her eyes, wishing to be anywhere else but there right at the moment.

Then, suddenly, she felt the soft warmth of Sherlock intertwining her fingers with his own. She blinked and looked back up, startled at the unusually tender gesture. When Molly met his eyes again, he was gazing at her with a strange, bright look of fierce earnestness.

“What I said… I didn’t mean I don’t trust you. ‘Believe’ is not a word I entertain very often in my regular vocabulary because it’s usually such an abstract concept based in no real—”

He stopped himself from his own tangent, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his curls until his focus was back entirely on Molly.  
“What I mean is, I don’t believe in people, Molly Hooper. But I believe in you.”

Molly blinked, drawing a complete and utter blank for what to say.

“I’m sorry if it came off the wrong way before. But I do think we can work, Molly. I really do. Even… even if we started telling people, I suppose.”

“Really?”

“Well, you’ve raised some good arguments today and the logic really seems sound enough to warrant—”

“Seriously, Sherlock, shut up!” and then Molly was giggling and cutting him off with a long kiss. He sighed into her, pulling her closer against him and drawing her lips apart with his own so he could tangle his tongue with hers. But Molly broke the contact abruptly, breathing quickly as she grinned up at Sherlock with a sly glint in her eyes.

“You know… We’ve got this whole lift to ourselves,” she said, her voice so low it came out nearly a ragged whisper. 

Sherlock seemed puzzled for maybe a split second before realization dawned in his eyes and he smirked right back at her. Then his lips were back on hers with even more gusto, his hands fumbling to quickly throw off his long coat so they could find Molly again, pushing her forcefully back against the wall of the lift and holding her there, their hands clasped, as he mashed his lips against hers. Molly relished the feel of his body pressing into hers, trapping her against the cool wall behind her. She was getting that strange sensation she sometimes got with Sherlock, as though he could not be close enough: as though any distance between them at all was too much.

He reached up to undo her braid, letting her hair fall liberatingly in wavy tresses around her shoulders. Then his hands reached up under her shirt to grasp the bare skin of her back, making their way up to undo the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts beneath their shirt. The sweet sensation of relief that Molly always felt came with undoing a bra was heightened when Sherlock’s expert fingers worked their way around front, bunching up her shirt above her stomach, stroking her breasts and cupping them, relishing in their freedom as well. He stopped touching her and kissing her only long enough to reach down to undo the long row of buttons marching down her shirt, giving him easier access. 

He began to work steadily south, his mouth trailing hard kisses with a hint of teeth down her neck and to her shoulders, while meanwhile he trailed his hands down from her torso to reach up under her skirt instead, pulling at her tights. 

“Wait!” Molly gasped breathlessly, something dimly registering in her mind. “Don’t they have cameras in these?”

Sherlock broke away from her neck and looked up around him at the ceiling, as though trying to spot one. But then he shrugged.

“Let them watch. Let them all watch. They can all see, they can all know, I don’t care.” 

Molly felt a small explosion of happiness in her chest at these words but she wasn’t sure Sherlock noticed. When the sheer fabric of her tights clung to her legs, not wanting to come off so easily, Sherlock bent down, reaching both hands up her skirt to slide the tights off her, letting his fingers trail after the fabric as he did. Molly shivered, giggling as the air hit her bare legs. Then Sherlock slid his hands back up to snag her knickers as well, letting them fall in a puddle around her feet. Molly felt her breath catch, her heart picking up speed again as this particular barrier fell away. Sherlock straightened himself back up, smiling mischievously at her as she put her arms around him.

“I never thought being stuck in lifts could be so… favorable.”

Molly hardly had a chance to laugh again before Sherlock’s lips were back on the nape of her neck, continuing the work they’d begun before, causing Molly’s laugh to fall away into more of a gasp and a moan as she gripped at the back of his shirt. He slid his hands down her torso one more time, giving her breasts a firm squeeze, and then dipped one hand below again, bunching her skirt up against her leg slightly as his spindling fingers inched their way up the inside of her thigh tantalizingly. When he finally stroked her opening, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her, he grinned, pressing himself against her.

“So wet already, Molly?”

Under the fabric of his trousers, Molly could feel his erection hard against her leg, and she grinned right back.

“You should talk.”

But she’d barely gotten the comeback out before she cut her self off with a gasp again. Sherlock had dipped his fingers further into her, swiftly rolling her clitoris between them and then pulling back out only to plunge right back in, sinking in even deeper. He worked his fingers against her, beckoning her to come more with his fingers, and she rocked against him in response, her arms splayed out to her sides on the lift wall behind her, trying to breathe deeply but every so often letting out a barely stifled yelp of delight. Her rocking motions became jerkier and her breathing slightly more frenzied as Sherlock continued to work her, watching her face hungrily as he usually did, reveling in her pleasure. Molly felt the knot of tension increasing below, building until her first orgasm of the afternoon washed over her with a strangled cry, Sherlock’s pleased eyes never leaving her face so he could drink in every expression of ecstasy. 

Molly felt like her legs might give way with the rush of endorphins and began to sink down against the wall, but Sherlock pulled her back against him playfully, letting her catch her breath and then kissing her again. 

“Now, now, Molly, you know that was only a shallow one. I think we can do better.”

And then he had her back up against the wall again, kissing her with new vigor. She felt herself re-awaken again almost immediately, though mere seconds ago she might not have thought it possible. She reached down clumsily to undo the belt and zipper of Sherlock’s trousers, and he reached down to finish the job, finally freeing his pulsing erection. Molly reached down to stroke it, to draw it into her, but Sherlock caught her by both wrists, trapping them against the wall in his grip as he kissed her again.

“Keep your hands up.” He told her huskily, his voice low. Molly obeyed, keeping her arms firmly against the lift wall on either side of her head and closing her eyes as Sherlock quickly wrapped himself and sank his cock into her.

Then he reached behind her, stroking her bum and her thighs, drawing her legs up around him to straddle his waist while her back and arms remained firmly against the wall. She felt the angle become easier and he sank more deeply into her, filling her entirely, causing her to emit a low moan. Slowly, holding her up with the combination of the wall and his own strength, he began to move in and out of her, causing new spasms of pleasure each time he did. Molly sometimes forgot how strong Sherlock really was; his ropey and lean muscles, handsome as they were, weren’t exactly a giveaway. But he supported her legs against him seemingly effortlessly, pushing in and out of her as she bucked against him, following his motions. She could feel the beginnings of the tension beginning to build up below again, this time more gradually but stronger, somehow. Deeper. She loved the feel of him inside her, loved how well he fit right into her. She let out a moan as the tension continued to mount.

With this mounting tension, their movements began to quicken. Molly felt her shirt slipping from around her shoulders, the buttons hanging uselessly as both sides had opened up to expose the rest of her torso, her bra hanging there loosely, having slid down to reveal her breasts bouncing in the rhythm of their movements. Part of Molly dimly wished she’d gotten Sherlock’s shirt off, but then again she also got an odd sort of pleasure at being exposed to him when he was still mostly clothed. Every so often she caught glimpses of his beautiful face racked with concentration, occasionally interrupted by his own spams of pleasure. Their speed was increasing and their movements were becoming more erratic now. Molly strained against him.

As the frantic movements and their building pleasure became too much to bare, Sherlock’s strength finally gave way. Molly’s resolve broke and she tore her arms from the wall to wrap them around him as they fell to the ground together, Sherlock’s full weight landing gently on top of her. Their connection had broken for a second, but Sherlock took no time plunging back into her, beginning to work even faster now. They jerked and strained, Molly lifting her legs, still wrapped around Sherlock’s torso, even higher so she could feel him inside her all the way to her core. As her mounting ecstasy became even more intense, Molly’s moans began to increase as well, becoming louder and wilder as she lost control of her vocal chords in the rush. When the orgasm finally hit, she thought she’d never felt anything so deeply in every cell of her body before. It washed over every inch of her.  
Seconds later, she heard Sherlock give a final moan as well, his breathing and his movements against her slowing down until he came to a stop.   
“Molly Hooper, you are spectacular,” Sherlock murmured in her ear.

“As are you, Mr. Holmes,” she responded with a grin.

Molly continued to stare at the ceiling for a few moments, letting complete and utter contentment wash over her and Sherlock did the same, continuing to rest inside her.

But there was something neither of them had noticed in the midst of their frenzy.

 

With a piercing “ding!” that startled both of them, the lift doors whooshed open. 

“What the—?!”

“Well, I guess they’re okay…”

Two familiar voices greeted them in shock. Molly felt herself go bright red as Sherlock scrambled off of her, trying to pull up his trousers as quickly as he could. Remembering her shirt was still undone and she was still hanging out in all her glory, Molly gripped the front of her shirt closed and blushed even harder, if that was possible. She looked around at Sherlock in fright, expecting to see shame on his face, but he just met her with a sheepish grin and a shrug.

“I guess this was one way to tell them.”

There was nothing she could do then, but laugh. Laugh, and turn to give some long-overdue explanations to the extremely shocked and slightly mortified faces of John Watson and Greg Lestrade with Sherlock at her side.


End file.
